I wait along with all but thoughts racing through my mind.

My Inspiration is slowly fading

with the rest of me.

I hear it in my words.

My silver tongue has lost its luster when it needs to

selfishly shine the most.

My words get old and dull

As I grow bored and realize

I hate to wait.

I sigh regret as my once beautiful turn to

Ugly rant.

Has the muse left me, or simply

Left me for a time.

I plea for her return, but to no avail.

She’s gone.

And thousands of feet above the air, I recall.

With The Mars Volta in my head,

I slowly regain my inspiration,

Like a bird, learning to fly again,

I soon will soar so high again.

Higher than ever before.

The rust will fade off my tongue,

and it will light my inspirationless night.

And I will never stop.